


Insecurities

by KaosCumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaosCumberbatch/pseuds/KaosCumberbatch
Summary: Johnlock. Late one night, Sherlock finally tells John how he feels but not without great fear of how John will respond. Triggers.





	Insecurities

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a long ass time ago like 3 years now but I've reworked it so hopefully it's better

Sherlock stood dead silent in the dark hallway outside his bedroom late at night. He heard John moving about in the kitchen and had snuck out to see what he was doing.

John sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and staring groggily at his laptop.

Sherlock bit his lip as he watched John’s half closed eyes and his hair that stuck up in odd places. Even now, in his thin pajama pants and ripped t-shirt that just showed the edge of the scar on his shoulder, he took Sherlock’s breath away.

He inhaled sharply, causing John to look up.

“Sherlock?” he whispered, peering into the darkness.

“John,” Sherlock whispered back, his voice faltered.

“Hey. Did I wake you?” John’s voice was heavy with sleep but still smooth and warm. It made the hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stand up. 

Sherlock shook his head as he stepped into the kitchen. John smiled as he admired his friend’s languid state. He was usually so proud, collected and alert but with his blue gown hanging off his shoulders and his hair that was even worse than John’s was a rare and intriguing thing to see.

“Can’t sleep?”

Sherlock shook his head again as he stared at his bare feet.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“Nothing, it’s just that uhm… I-I was worried about you,” he mumbled.

“Worried?”

“Yeah, I thought you might have had a nightmare or… something.”

John shook his head. “I haven’t had one in a while. I’m alright.”

Sherlock nodded and swallowed hard as he shifted on the cold tile, not daring to peel his eyes away from the floor.

“Maybe you should go back to bed,” John suggested quietly.

“John uhm… there’s something I need to say.” Sherlock looked up at him but found that he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t look John in the eye and pour his heart out to him. His tongue felt swollen all the way down his throat.

“Sherlock?”

“You uhm… When I’m around you my stomach… It-it feels strange.” He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. “And my tongue sort of trips over itself. I-I can’t say what I want to when I’m around you.” Sherlock’s breathing picked up and he felt like he would be sick. He hadn’t even realized what he was saying but now it was too late. He felt his body twitch in small places. He felt himself shaking and sweating and his heart start to race. It was such a new and strange feeling to him and he hated it.

“I just have this feeling when I’m with you and I know maybe this sounds ridiculous, and I suppose it is, but I really do care about you. You know I’m not a sentimental man but I really just-” 

He cut himself off and took a deep breath as John continued to stare at him.

“There have been so many nights when I wake up out of breath because of a dream I have or-or because I hear you upstairs waking up from a nightmare and I just… I want to go up there and crawl into bed with you. I want… I want to feel your breaths on my neck and I want to feel like everything is okay. I want to forget everything,” Sherlock managed, his voice breaking the whole time.

“You make me feel so insecure,” he said, tears starting to fall down his face because of all the emotions he was feeling and frustration at the fact that what he thought and felt wouldn’t come out the way he wanted it to. He didn’t even feel like crying- his eyes didn’t burn and his throat hadn’t closed up- but suddenly he had blinked and out they came. He was always so certain of himself but now he felt vulnerable. He was terrified that John would reject him- that he would just walk out of their flat in the middle of the night and never come back.

“I mean I’m more comfortable with you over anyone else. You always say that I’m brilliant or amazing and you’re the only one that I can trust but… I’m afraid to trust you. I just… I want you to be happy and I guess I’m scared of… I’m scared that you’ll leave me. That you’ll leave just like everyone else. I-I don’t want you to think I’m a freak. I try so hard to impress you. I try so hard to make you happy.”

John watched him with deep concern. He was slightly uneasy about Sherlock’s display of emotions and he didn’t know how to handle his crying but he was touched.

“Sherlock… How do I make you feel insecure?” John asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sniffed. “Do you know why I never eat with you, John? I say that digestion slows me down but… You have this amazing figure, I mean most people would disagree but you’re perfect to me and it makes me feel… I feel like I disgust you. And the long sleeves… I used to cut my wrists when I was a kid. I don’t anymore but I don’t want it to scare you. I never wanted you to see because I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand or that you would think I really was a freak. It’s not just a few here and there I mean… It’s all over. They’re covered.”

John set his tea on the table and stood up. Sherlock winced at the sound his chair made when it moved across the floor but stood motionless where he was. He kept his eyes down as he gasped for air between his silent sobs.

John stood in front of him as Sherlock stared down at their feet. John pushed the gown off Sherlock’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Any other time, Sherlock would have fought to keep it on but he was paralyzed in fear, glued to the floor and as stiff as a statue.

John took Sherlock’s wrist with the utmost care and turned it over so he could see the scars that covered his arms. He let out a small huff of surprise.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, stomach turning.

Sherlock started to shake uncontrollably. He had never been this scared in his whole life.

“Sherlock…” John said. “Why did you do this?”

Everything in Sherlock screamed to run away. He wanted to snatch his hand away and hide under his covers, never to come out again. But John’s gentle voice and the feeling of his hand on his arm kept him still. He shook his head and opened his mouth but he was unable to respond coherently. 

John sighed and slowly brought Sherlock’s wrist to his lips, kissing up his arm.

“I wish you hadn't done this, but it’s not because of how it looks. I wish you hadn’t felt this pain. I wish you never felt like you needed to do this.”

Sherlock nodded, tears still streaming down his face. He wanted to tell John that he had helped him stop. He wanted to tell John that he was the reason there were no fresh ones. He wanted to tell him that he’s the reason that he doesn’t feel like he needs to anymore. 

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you,” John said, trying to look Sherlock in the eye. He placed his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and wiped a tear with his thumb.

Sherlock finally looked down at him. John smiled softly.

“Did you know that I love the color of your eyes?”

Sherlock shook his head, eyes shifting away nervously from the compliment.

“I do,” John whispered, noting the fact that the redness around his eyes from crying made the color even more brilliant.

“I do,” he repeated as his own eyes began to close while he rolled up on his toes and closed the space between them.

Sherlock gasped as he felt John’s soft lips against his own. He let his eyes close as well until John pulled back.

Their chests were now touching and Sherlock’s hands had found their way into John’s, fingers interlocked. John’s eyes were still shut as he mumbled against Sherlock’s cheek.

The warm breaths made Sherlock shudder.

“I do.”


End file.
